


Don't Let the Story Down

by Siren_whispers



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Healing, How Do I Tag, Hurt Isak Valtersen, M/M, Past Character Death, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siren_whispers/pseuds/Siren_whispers
Summary: On the day of Lea’s funeral he’d given up on being a father.Or a story about Terje Valtersen and how he tries to make up for his past.Title from "Traps" by Years and Years
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	Don't Let the Story Down

Terje remembers that day more vividly than he’d like to. The day when his loss was truly solidified. The day when he’d stop caring and he didn’t think he’d made that choice consciously but it had happened anyway.  
He’d pulled on his suit that morning, aware of the movements he was making, but not really processing any one of them. Marianne had done the same, so covered in black lace by the time they left their room that she was hardly recognisable. The door across from theirs remained firmly shut, the baby pink sign on the front of it declaring it Lea’s room staring out at them tauntingly, glitter glue reflecting what little light managed to peek through their closed curtains. Marianne sighed when she looked at the door next to it. Then she went to help her five-year-old get dressed into his own tiny formal wear.  
They left his room not long after, pale hands clasped together. Marianne still looked blank and Isak looked so small and so confused, tears prickling in his eyes like he knew he was sad like he was supposed to be but not understanding why. His big, pale, watery eyes looked up at Terje as if searching for either comfort or an answer but Terje couldn’t bring himself to look at him.  
“You look handsome,” he heard his own voice say but he was almost certain he hadn’t spoken.  
Then they left for the church and he had felt sick to his stomach when he’d seen the relief flash across Isak’s face at having seen Lea, ashen and pale and laying in an open casket at the front of the room. They shouldn’t have to make caskets that small. Then he watched concern fill his son’s face when Lea didn’t move or respond. Retrospectively, he’d be ashamed to say it, but at the time, when his son had started to cry and his wife had to whisk him away from his sister, he’d thought, Good.

* * *

After that day, nothing had been right ever again.  
He had decided that day that he couldn't do it again, couldn’t even risk that possibility. On the day of Lea’s funeral he’d given up on being a father. He only spoke to Isak when his son spoke to him first, and as years passed that grew all the more infrequent, he didn’t take him to football games when he went with his friends and their sons and they all watched the teams kick the ball around on the court even though some of the kids couldn’t care less about the game. Marianne would often let him know that Isak almost never stopped playing with his new best friend whose name he couldn’t seem to stop hearing but refused to commit to memory.

He remembered the first time he had met Isak’s friend. The boy had tried to introduce himself but Terje didn’t say hello back or shake the boy’s offered hand. Instead, he stood up and grabbed his coat off of the rack by the door before telling the air instead of isak that he was going to meet his friend at the pub. As he left, he heard a voice say “We’ll go to the Vasquez house from now on,” and he didn’t know whether it was Isak’s or his nameless friend’s. He’d forgotten that anyone had ever said anything by the time he was stumbling home drunk long past midnight after hours and hours of drinking alone.  
Isak had been eleven. Lea would have been 14. Maybe if she hadn’t gotten sick he would be meeting the first boyfriend by then. Instead, she was frozen in time, her room the exact same as the day she had left it apart from the lock they’d put on the door the week after the funeral. He’d seen the key on a chain that bounced against Marianne’s chest but had never tried to open it.

* * *

Terje hadn’t been okay since the funeral but he’d been aware of it. It was like he’d purposely flipped a switch and could still very much see the switch but just didn’t have the energy nor any real desire to get up and flip it back.  
For Marianne it was different. There was no switch, just a gradual decline that he didn’t take seriously enough until it was really far too late. It wasn’t grief either, maybe triggered by it, but it was something so much worse: something he didn’t have a name for because by the time he couldn’t ignore it anymore she was refusing professional help.

He humoured her once upon a time, when it was just an occasional episode here and there but she was still very much his wife most of the time. Sometimes she was convinced she was being followed by strange men and he loved her so he did what she asked. He walked out of the block of flats in his pyjamas on cold winter nights to see who was in the car Marianne had told him was loitering outside even though he could tell from their flat that the street beneath was as empty as a church. He checked around the corners before letting Marianne walk past them when she needed him to. With a lump in his throat and an anvil balancing on his chest, he even rummaged through Lea’s old room when Marianne told him there were strange men squatting in there, even if one glance at the thick layers of dust that had formed on her belongings and the rust on the lock of her window proved that no one had been in there recently.  
But then it got worse.  
The episodes got more and more frequent until her moments of lucidity got rarer and rarer. She wouldn’t leave the house unless it was Sunday and the church was waiting for her only a couple of blocks away. Terje always went with her but Isak had stopped coming the year Lea would have turned 16. It took Terje a minute to work out that would have made him twelve. He didn’t know where Isak went or whether he went on Sunday morning or Saturday night, but he was never in the house when they woke up early on Sunday to get dolled up for the other churchgoers who never dressed as nicely as Marianne made sure they did and who were all very much aware of just what was happening beneath that neatly primped and polished surface.  
Her obsessive behaviours worsened and it wasn’t long before the only thing Terje could put in her hands without there being any risk of her throwing it across the room in a panicked state was the bible she was constantly rereading. He started buying paper cups when Lea would have been 19. All their cutlery was pliable plastic except for what they kept locked in a cupboard too high for Marianne to reach, the key within Isak’s reach as well as Terje’s own but far enough out of Marianne’s to feel safe. There was a second container around the knives that locked with a passcode Marianne certainly didn’t know. Their plates were all paper as well. He had sold their kettle to a struggling coworker for cheap.  
Still, Marianne found ways to hurt herself, and every now and then, when it got worse, him too. He didn’t wonder until years later if she’d ever done the same to Isak.

He cooked and he cleaned, only ever making two servings and ignoring the rooms opposite his. He figured Isak could fend for himself.  
He didn’t want it to carry on that way but he didn’t know what else to do. Until one day--Lea’s 20th birthday--he came home as he did every day but when he moved into the kitchen to do the shopping he found dirty dishes in the sink. And then Isak walked out of Terje and Marianne’s room, a dirty paper plate in each hand. He didn’t even spare Terje a glance when he walked past him to throw the plates into the bin. That had been emptied earlier. The cupboards were fully stocked even though Terje was planning on going shopping in the next few hours and the floor had clearly recently been hoovered. Terje was struck with the sense that the household was running as smoothly as it did with his involvement even when he was doing nothing.  
That was the first time he’d really looked at isak in years and he didn’t recognise him, honestly. He was tall but the bend of his back made him look both like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and like he was trying to make himself seem smaller, trying to take up less space. There was a hat over his hair--the same soft, dirty blonde curls as Marianne had had when she could still brush and wash her hair effectively and regularly--it was branded and Terje was almost certain they couldn’t afford it. Either Isak had found a hidden gem in a charity shop, borrowed it from a friend, or taken up shoplifting. Terje was honestly indifferent to which it was. He had soft features and the second Terje looked at them too directly he had to look away again. He couldn’t help but imagine what Lea would look like at his age.

Terje packed up his bag that night, shoving his clothes into the leather suitcase that had sat unused in the bottom of his wardrobe for the past eleven years after he blew the dust off of it. There were pictures on the wall--all at least 6 feet high--and in his drawers (all locked) of him, of marianne, of Lea. He didn’t put any of them in the bag. He put the keys to his drawers in his pocket and moved into the bathroom to gather up his toiletries. Then he tucked his keys into the little alcove where the key to the cutlery was kept. Isak would find them soon.  
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and found a cheap local motel before sending two individual texts to the family members he was leaving behind. He was sure his wife and son would love to read those in the morning.

Terje had been trying for eleven years not to care about Isak, but even as he left he was thinking about the boy’s future. He had to convince himself that his son--only in blood and not in spirit--would be fine. He’d find a nice girl--maybe he already had, Terje wouldn’t know--maybe he’d cycle through a few. Then he’d settle down eventually, get married, have kids. Terje would have a daughter in law and grandkids and he wouldn’t know it and he wouldn’t know them, but Isak would be happy. He didn’t need Terje, he had never needed Terje. He’d be fine.  


* * *

Isak left the flat only a month after Terje did and Terje only found out because of a text asking for rent money. Terje needed an explanation of what was happening first; he couldn’t pass any judgement onto Isak for him leaving Marianne alone because he’d done the same thing only he’d expected to be able to palm his responsibilities off onto a teenager, but he did feel like he had to at least pretend he was a semi-decent father. Or perhaps even one at all.  
Isak explained to him in as few words as he could that he had met a friend who lived with roommates and had offered Isak space in the kollectiv. So Terje said okay. He didn’t miss that Isak hadn’t said how he’d met this friend or what his new address would be or really given any details about the situation. Still, Terje knew he could hardly just start parenting him then. So he said okay and sent money when asked and pretended that he wasn’t full of more guilt than he could stomach.

* * *

Beate showed up where he worked one day, just a regular client. Until she wasn’t anymore.  
She was the first and only woman he’d loved since Marianne and he’d forgotten what it felt like. He didn’t have to look after Beate like he’d had to Marianne, he cared for her as much as he was able but she didn’t rely on him. And it was like he could breathe again. He felt love for someone that could love him back and it felt incredible but it also only caused the grief he had been pushing down for years on end inflate and grow until there was no space left in his lungs for air.  
Beate had twin daughters who were both in University and rarely ever there in Oslo with her, but still she talked about them non-stop. She loved them. When it had started Terje had been apprehensive, almost certain that her lovingly retold stories would make him think of and ache for Lea. But it hadn’t happened that way.  
An image of Isak had popped into his head, dressed in the exact same clothes as Terje had last seen him dressed in, with the exact same haircut, standing with the exact same posture. He’d neglected him for years and that was the only image--mental or physical--he had of his son. He gulped and cried into Beate’s shoulder and told her the truth. He was scared she’d leave after that, like suddenly karma was going to catch up to him.  
That didn’t happen.  
She told him sternly but also understandingly that he needed to make an effort, reach out to his son. Maybe he’d respond, maybe he wouldn’t, but at least Terje would have tried either way.

That’s why he sent Isak the text inviting him to that Christmas service. He knew Isak hadn’t set foot in a church in almost half a decade but it was something and his mother would be there too so Isak wouldn’t have to suddenly connect to a man he had never really held a meaningful conversation with.   
Isak had said that he’d come but he also said something about bringing a boyfriend. At first Terje had thought he’d been joking to mess with the man who had done nothing but ignore him. Then he found out that Isak wasn’t joking but he did have some pretty serious boy trouble and Terje didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  
He was still staring at his phone when Beate got home to the flat that they had only recently begun to share.

“Are you okay dear?” Her voice was soft and warm “Did he not want to come? I know you don’t want to hear this but you can’t blame him, you weren’t the best-”  
“No,” Terje cut her off, shaking his head “He said he’d come,”  
“Well that’s goo-”  
“And he’s gay,”  
“Oh,” her voice was quieter and became tentative when she asked “And how do you feel about that?”  
“Not thrilled,” He admitted “But not angry. I guess I’m a bit upset, it’s just-it’s not-” He knew what he was trying to say but the words were getting stuck in his throat.  
“It’s not how you pictured it,” Beate finished for him.  
He nodded “I still want to talk to him, get to know him if he’ll let me, this doesn’t change that--but still, I can’t help wondering if maybe I’d been there…”  
Beate’s hand was rested firmly yet comfortingly on his shoulder “It doesn’t work that way Terje. This has nothing to do with you not being there or him not respecting you or any of that old bullshit. This is just who he is,”  
And Terje loved Beate and he suddenly wanted to love Isak too because he’d been reminded of just how incredible that could feel, so he accepted that.

Even when Isak ran out of the church because of his boy trouble, Terje accepted that.

* * *

Beate looked up from examining the brand new, sparkling ring on her finger to speak to Terje. “I absolutely do want to marry you and am very much looking forward to it,” she started, like a disclaimer “But I do want to meet Isak before the wedding, and I need him to meet Ann and Hanne after that. It might be slightly awkward not meeting your stepmum and stepsisters until the wedding,”  
“I need to meet this mysterious boyfriend as well,” Terje added, “I assume he’ll be Isak’s plus one to the wedding,”  
“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Beate smiled, getting to her feet so she could wrap her arms around Terje’s waist as she kissed him gently on the cheek. Her lipstick left a greasy pink smear on his cheek but he was too drunk on happiness to care even a little. She’d said yes!

And that was how Terje ended up texting Isak to come over the next weekend if he was free and that was how Isak ended up saying yes.

Beate was fussing around the kitchen and the dining room, movements rushed and hands busy making sure everything was perfect whilst Terje waited for Isak to arrive. “You know you don’t have to worry,” Terje told her, having been trying for the past half an hour to get her to calm down. “He lives with highschool and uni students and we only had paper plates for years. I got a text from his flatmate telling me he doesn’t know how to use a kettle yesterday. He really won’t care,”  
Beate did pause for a second. “His roommate has your number?” Terje had still never met any of Isak’s roommates and Beate knew that.  
“No,” Terje laughed “He stole Isak’s phone. I also got sent this wonderful picture,” He showed Beate his phone screen, the light it gave off illuminating her gently sloping features.  
She giggled. “Nice glasses,” and then after a moment of silence, she said tentatively “Is that the boyfriend?”  
“No,” Terje made a face “I already made the mistake of asking that one,”  
“So,” She untied the apron from around her waist after dusting her hands off on it “Can I ask about this boyfriend or is that-”  
“You probably won’t have to,” Terje told her with a chuckle. He and isak had been meeting up fairly regularly since the Christmas service and he’d noticed something “He does not shut up about that Even, I feel like I’ve already met him,”  
Beate smiled “I hope you know that when we get him, Ann, and Hanne together you’re probably gonna get trapped in an endless circle of boytalk,”  
Terje screwed up his face “I can call and tell him dinner’s off if you want,”  
“Don’t you dare!” She gave a bark of laughter as she jokingly pushed his shoulder into the wall. They were laughing together, shoving each other about, when the doorbell rang. Beate immediately straightened herself up, brushing some imaginary lint from her skirt and smoothing it down. Terje’s hand found its way onto her shoulder reassuringly as he walked past her to the door. She clasped her hands behind her back and tried to smile in a way that wasn’t too obviously uncomfortable as a tall blonde boy walked through the door and greeted Terje with one of those awkward man-hugs. It seemed they hadn’t quite reached proper hug territory yet. Terje didn’t have pictures of Isak so she had never seen him before. The only basis she had for her preconceived perception of him was Terje’s own vague descriptions. He was wearing simple jeans and trainers as well as a dark purple snapback and a soft-looking grey hoodie and well-loved denim jacket with pins on the collar that both looked to be rather too big for him.  
He approached Beate with a tentative smile on his face--she could see almost none of Terje in it, supposing that meant he must more closely resemble his mother--and his hand extended as if waiting for her to take and shake it. She grabbed his hand but didn’t give him the chance to move his arm before she had pulled him into a hug. She didn’t do any of those awkward greetings, teenaged boy or not.  
“Hi,” He spoke unsurely over her shoulder.  
“Hi yourself,” she released him and looked up at his face “It’s nice to meet you,”  
“You too,” Her hands were still on his arms and a certain glint made his eyes travel downwards. He turned his head to speak to his dad.  
“Is that what I think it is?” His eyebrows shot up as Terje’s face broke out into a grin. He knocked his hand against Terje’s before looking between them, looking shell-shocked but not overly perturbed. She supposed that was a good sign.  
“That’s just-just-wow. Congratulations Dad, Beate,” Beate beamed and dragged them both over to the table so they could sit for the meal she had laboured over for hours on end.

Beate had just sat back down again after placing three servings of desert on the table before Isak spoke, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands and snuggling down a little bit into the neck of the oversized shirt as if searching for comfort. He’d been awkward all dinner so she supposed it made sense, he did seem to be trying though, so she wasn’t going to hold it against him. Besides, she had a feeling she knew who that jumper actually belonged to, not that she was going to say it. Terje had been right: the conversation had turned to Even more than a few times and every mention of his name seemed to alleviate a little bit of the tension Isak was holding in his shoulders.  
“So…” he trailed in, obviously having something big he intended to say. “I wasn’t really expecting to tell you this when you had that big news of your own,” he stared at his spoon “But I did want to tell you that I’m moving out of the Kollectiv--Even and I are moving in together” he tried to speak evenly but Beate didn’t miss the excitement entering his voice as it lilted up at the end.  
“Oh!” She clapped her hands together, genuinely excited for this boy she’d known for maybe an hour. “That’s wonderful dear!”

* * *

Terje and Beate had been married for years, Even and Isak had been living together a few months longer than that, and Marianne had been receiving proper medical attention in an inpatient ward for only slightly less time. Things were going well.  
Even had a good job and Isak had been placed well for his residency. Their families got along and Isak’s family still had tension and problems, but they were getting better. Isak actually saw his family now, as regularly as he was able with his busy schedule, and hopefully those visits would only increase in a few months when he finished medical school.

Terje knew Even well and liked him a lot, still, when he invited Terje to the cafe, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous. It didn’t help that Even had seemed anxious himself over the phone. Still, Terje went and bought himself a coffee before Even waved him over to his table. The boy--or man now, Terje supposed--was taller and ganglier than just about everybody else in the building. He really didn’t need to wave Terje over; there was no way he would have been skipped over. There was a pastry waiting on the table for him. He grinned.

“So…” Terje’s attempt at trailing into the conversation was somewhat useless but he went with it anyway “what did you want to talk about?”  
Even immediately went red and Terje didn’t know what to make of that. He cocked an eyebrow as he tried to warm his hands on the paper cup.  
“So I know that there’s not really a traditional way to do this--or well there is but it doesn’t work for us,” His voice sped up as he spoke, like he was nervous and trying to get all of the words out quickly but it very quickly just turned to word vomit. “Isak and I have been together for almost a decade-” oh Terje was starting to have an inkling of just what was happening “And I was wondering if you’d maybe givemeyourpermissiontoproposetohim,” he couldn’t spit the words out quickly enough and every single bit of exposed skin on his body was scarlet when he finally managed it. Terje looked him up and down as if assessing him just to make a show of it. He really didn’t have to. He knew his answer before Even had come anywhere near asking the question and he’d honestly not predicted that it was ever going to be asked.  
Terje suppressed the urge to ask if that meant Isak was the girl, both because it was one of those things that Beate would glare at him for before telling him that he just couldn’t say that, and also because he really didn’t want to know. Then he spluttered out “Of course!” before Even engulfed him in the most relieved hug he had ever experienced.

The next time Terje saw Isak there was a ring on his finger and a smile on his face. He hugged his son--a hug that even hug-elitist Beate would approve of--and congratulated him on the engagement.  
Then he had to ask the hard question and hope it wouldn’t wipe any of the joy off of Isak’s face. “You’re taking his surname, aren’t you?” Isak bit his tongue and drew in his eyebrows, waiting for Terje to say something more “I get it,” he said eventually “We’ve not been the best family,” he knew he was downplaying that “So I get that you’d want to take his surname, And I know you don’t need my permission to do it, and I’ve honestly spent most of your life expecting that I’d never even get an invitation to your wedding let alone asked permission before you were proposed to,” Isak hadn’t known that detail “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be the one getting proposed to, but I just want to say that, as unnecessary as it is, you have my permission to take his name,”

* * *

Terje hadn’t been there for Isak when he was growing up. He hadn’t been there for Marianne when her health deteriorated, he had been absent for so long.  
But he wasn’t absent when, in a beautiful ceremony surrounded by his son’s (or sons’) friends whose names he had actually bothered to learn, Isak and Even were officially declared Mr. and Dr. Bech Næsheim.


End file.
